


Night and Day

by swimming_in_hope



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Character inspired by Kaori from Your Lie in April, F/M, First point of view, Narration by character, Not a fanfic!, Short Story, The dynamic of an unlikely duo, on a deeper aspect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 22:57:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9406643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swimming_in_hope/pseuds/swimming_in_hope
Summary: I was never a good person.She was.This is the chemistry of night and day.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My friend had challenged me to take up on a very overused and stereotypical plot then execute in a manner in which it shall no longer be the said overused and stereotypical plot. I hope it worked. 
> 
> So of course, I went with the opposite attracts couple idea thing.
> 
> I really hope it worked.

I have a friend whose name I will not mention but whose actions I will describe. Such wonderful things done, that girl. So many kind words spoken, that girl. Incredibly beautiful, that girl.

 

And I?

 

The complete opposite.

 

Snarky, sarcastic, cold, arrogant and envious were the words to describe me. I was swollen with bitterness and the entire lot of this world—whatever this world is— _loathed_ me. Stared at me with mounting dislike and hatred as I did to them because in truth, I enjoyed giving humanity a great slap in the face. One to emphasize the anger it had once filled me with—the pain. Revenge was the sweetest thing it offered me.

 

Till _she_ came bursting in, all chipper and happy. She with her messy blonde hair and igniting grey eyes.

 

It was a wonder how I possibly hated her.

 

 

She was anything but something to be hated.

 

 

But, of course, I only discovered that when a few months passed. I only thought that it would be intriguing to see someone unknowing of my horridness-- of my cruelty. Naïve and innocent to what I could do to her and what I could do to anyone.

 

 _‘This would be interesting… This would be interesting..._ ’ I thought.

 

Interesting it was indeed but in a meaning I did not anticipate. She, all aware of how puny she was-- how insignificant she was compared to me, _defended_ others against me.

 

Of course you would expect that many others have done the same thing as well and honestly…many did. It got quite boring actually. Teenagers with hero complexes white knighting in “gallantry”. The only difference was that when she was supposed to be simmering with anger and annoyance, she wasn’t.

 

There was hesitation coating her voice and… _empathy_ bursting in her narrowed grey eyes. There was no hatred or abhorrence just that darn empathy.

 

You could imagine how frustrated I was then.

 

I simply just didn’t understand. She became a mystery that my brain craved to answer. Those empathetic eyes so often crossed my mind that I forgot my position—forgot that it was my job to hate and despise as I sat wondering about some silly girl.

 

A day after that I ran into her (quite intentionally) pulled her aside and demanded for answers. I did not dare look into her eyes. I was afraid of what would happen to me—of what else I would see. But I never really got to dwell on it for her fist had already collided with my face before I could even say anything. She punched me.

_She punched me_.

 

Splendid.

 

And I thought she was just another soft fool. Another person to laugh at. When… she was very, _very_ far from that, truly.

 

I stared, dumbfounded yet shocked. And somehow, for some unknown reason ((again)), she breaks off into a panicked state. Quickly snatching her handkerchief and drags me to the clinic.  I didn’t notice the blood dripping down my lips.

 

 

I avoided her after that.

It settles into my mind, what happened. _The woman just helped me_ and I force a laugh out my dry throat, something to show or remind me how pitiful I should think she is. After all, it was a dog eat dog world—you cannot help one another— only fight to survive.

 

 

And still, she breaks the rules again.

 

 

The rules of the universe.

 

 

We truly were very different.

 

 

 I never really walked up to her, simply because she’d do that herself. One day—at some random time of the afternoon—she’d grasp my arm and offer me a space at her table for lunch. But she wouldn’t talk or strike a conversation except when she’d say goodbye and walk over to join her bickering friends. More like ‘ _fiends’_ really. They kept sneering at me. I’d sneer back, she’d laugh nervously and attempt to shatter the tension by telling some awful joke.

 

 

It became a daily routine for her, actually.

 

 

Every day she would take it upon herself to surprise me with something new— _something odd_. Something like her. Because that’s who she was, an impossible girl. Someone who just pulls magic from thin air. That was her specialty. She was good at that.

 

 

I, on the other hand, remained the same. I’d still continue on with my normal life style, my normal game. Mock, bully, lie—rinse and repeat. See, this is what people never understood about me then, I pull the happiness out of people with ease and leave them crying. That was _my_ specialty. It’s what I do.

 

 

But the world can draw lines and is not ignorant enough to remain oblivious towards those who crossed it. The universe had a sharp eye and I wasn’t quick enough to go unnoticed. So it unleashes its anger—its defense. Karma. And it tramples me, squashes me like a fly and snorts as it sees me bleed with sorrow. The time came when someone would have to step up and do the same to me. I was beat up in front of a cheering crowd, spat at and humiliated. The woman wasn’t there to defend me. I didn’t see a shimmer of gold or her grey eyes flashing with sympathy amongst the wrathful crowd. As much as I hated to admit it, I was disappointed.

 

I hoped that she, after all that she had done, would swallow her cowardice and step up for me—protect me.

 

It was only when the rain poured harshly and the clouds darkened considerably when I saw the silver lining—that brilliant flash of yellow. It was her… but it was too late then, the crowd was satisfied with my crippling form or my tear stained eyes. Justice was done. Justice was served. This was it and they walked away. But yet even when the air is thick with rain and drenched in morose—magic can still be made. And she does the unexpected.

 

She stops in front of me, hoists my body on her back, clips my tired legs around her waist and _runs._ She doesn’t look back, she just runs. Runs for the building, runs for my life, for help. I hear her laboured breath, feel the slight limp in her pace --What happened to her? It was then when I notice that her arms and face was bruised. Did they..? _Did they hurt her too?_

 

 

But..

 

 

She, despite her injuries, perseveres through an angry crowd, scooting away from the mob and into the campus. Her health is unstable, her reputation is at risk, truth can be revealed behind her actions _and yet—and I couldn’t understand—Why?_

“You’re an idiot!”

_She was wonderful._

“Don’t be stupid about this!”

 

And though I yelled many curses and many lies I will never deny the hot tears that streamed down my face at that moment, never deny the salt that blended with her sweat and skin. How my hands clung so tight to her shoulders, begging her to never let me go. To never forget the faint smell of vanilla in her long, ragged hair or her cracked voice when she told me to shut up.

 

 

And in the morning, when I wake in the hospital, an ankle twisted and my face pummelled, I see her plucking a few strings on her violin before she lifts the fiddle and the music begins. I didn’t know why but with the light behind her—that white, rain soaked dress—the puddle beneath her feet and her eyelids closed— _she looked heavenly._

But I ask in my tired croaking voice: _“Why did you do it?”_

 

The music stopped, the air was thick and her eyes opened, half-lidded and stern but she doesn’t answer and instead continues to play her violin.

 

_That was left for me to answer._

 

Because she was kind, because she was good-hearted, because she understood, because she has hope, because I didn’t, because she simply wanted to help, because she has been through the same thing, because she took pity, because I was someone in her eyes, because I suddenly mattered to her—

 

“Because we all get angry sometimes _.”_ She says.

 

“Because the world seems bitter and dark to you.”

 

 Such wonderful things done, that girl.

 

“Because there is so much more than that.”

 

So many kind words spoken, that girl.

 

“Because there is light in this insufferable tunnel—“

 

She pulls her fiddle and her hair whips fiercely as she played the last note.

 

“And that if you stop, you will be pulled back and never be set free. The darkness is determined in this world of ours but each human being is given the potential to beat it—get up on your feet and earn yourself a victory. No matter what you did, no matter what you do so as long as this world keeps revolving around sun and the days are still forever—the nights will pass and _it will never be too late for you to deserve happiness.”_

 

Incredibly beautiful, that girl.

 

 

I never really said who she was though.

 

Probably because I thought her name was simply too common and typical.

 

But great people deserve to be known.

 

Her name was ‘Love.’

 

 

_What a coincidence._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Reviews and comments are very much welcomed. Have a nice day :-)


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